Tonight as I’m sitting in bed with my husband (watching The Voice, because that’s how he rolls), tapping on acupressure points in attempt to aleiviate morning sickness I say to him, “In case I ever get this crazy Idea again, please remind me I really, really, REALLY do not want to be pregnant EVER again.”
“Well, if its Heavenly Father’s plan… think of all the things that happened to get this baby here.” He said.
“Like what things?”
“Like the vasectomy.”
Ahhh… yes. The vasectomy. How could I have forgotten? The first of many things that made us realize we weren’t done with birth children. See, we’ve always wanted to adopt. But every time we move toward that plan we’re halted in our tracks.
We had decided we were done having birth children after the birth of our 3rd. My husband went to see a doctor about getting a vasectomy. All that happened during that appointment was that they had him sit in a room and at random intervals three different interns came in a said to him, “You understand this is permanent, right?” No physical check up. No instructions about whether or not he could eat before the surgery, or how long it would take, or if he’d be able to drive himself home. Nothing. Just reminders about the permanency of the procedure. On the morning to the surgery he called the hospital, since he hadn’t heard from them to confirm his appointment. What happened was the doctor never faxed the forms to the hospital that they would need to do the vasectomy. They weren’t even expecting him. He was irritated with the doctor but had no choice. That was the only doctor covered by our medical. If he wanted it done he’d have to go back to the same guy who didn’t even prepare him for the procedure and who couldn’t even get anyone in his office to fax a few papers. So we dropped it. Several weeks later Kolby learned in school about the increase of testicular cancer rates in men who have had vasectomies. About a year later an updated handbook was put out by our church stating that a couple should not have surgery to avoid pregnancy unless medically necessary and only after counseling with their Bishop. We take this as God looking out for us.
I get frustrated not able to understand why God won’t let us adopt. Isn’t that a good, pure desire? Kolby points out that there are specific spirits meant to come to our family. I know this is true. We very much believe that our family members chose each other before any of us came to this earth. I guess I don’t understand why my body has to be the vessel for each of them to arrive here. But then I think if I were looking down at Earth and I had the choice to come through a health conscious mother who will create a Space of Love for me, who will birth me and care for me in that space, surrounded by my family, who will hold me and nurse me anytime I feel the need, who understands the integration that comes along with being new in a body and in this world, who is passionate about family bonds and will keep me close and never send me away to be educated or raised by someone else, I’d jump down that chute without hesitation too. And I love my babies. I love them too deep for words, deeper than I often allow myself to be aware of. Its scary, that kind of love. I can’t hear the mention of a child passing away without breaking down in tears. I can’t bear the thought of it. The more children I have, the greater the risk that I will have to let one go. And I don’t think I could do that. I think I would die inside. I have the greatest respect and admiration for anyone who has lost a child. The more we love the more we stand to lose. I’ve always been afraid of love, never quite able to open myself up all the way to let it in or to express it. But its in me. The only person I’ve ever met who seems to love in the way that I do is my daughter. It isn’t easy to be her. Her heart is broken constantly by the smallest things, but I can very much relate to her. I’m not the best mom in the world, far from it. I often wonder why these little beings want me as their guide in the first place. My intentions are good, but rarely surface. What my kids see is a tense, overwhelmed woman who is distant and nearly always disconnected. Its a shield, really. An attempt to not be hurt by love anymore. And also often the result of my physical condition, which has been not good from my own birth and often causes me to be inwardly focused.
But, onward and upward is the only way to go. I very much look forward to my journey with this new member of our family. I’ve been preparing for him for over a year. I know him and I love him as much as a mother can love her child. I know that all too soon all these discomforts of pregnancy will be a distant and blurred memory and I’ll be gazing down at a pure and brilliant creation at my breast. A creation who came here with a mission and who I will support in accomplishing that mission, because he is not mine, but God’s, and I am honored to be his earthly, and eternal, mother.